1: Michael

Michael

 

 

      ...as turmoil sets in many parts of the Russian Federation following the devastating economic collapse and outbreak of terror bombings and shootings, the Russian government has put out several accusations that the United States is responsible for the attacks. The White House has officially denied the allegations, claiming no military forces have conducted operations within the Russian Federation and that the unknown group responsible is intentionally attempting to bolster conflict between the two nations and their allies. Meetings dealing with the Syrian crisis and the Russian claims of U.S. hostility within the United Nations have become tense as several global leaders, including those of Russia, have walked out and embassies around the world are facing rioters and violence. Secretary of State John Kerry and President Obama are involved in talks with President Medvedev and his cabinet, however sources claim the President has deemed the situation: fragile. There are those who -

          "That's enough of that." The radio hissed as the news broadcaster's voice gave way to the dueling guitars of Avenged Sevenfold from an iPod playlist. Michael Morrison leaned back against the light grey seats of his second hand Dodge Charger and enjoyed the solace as his choice of music played through the speakers. The orange streetlights whirred past, golden globes hanging against the darkening Floridian sky. Only a hint of teal remained against stark purple clouds on the far western horizon. The car cruised down South Courtenay, the central street running the length of Merritt Island, a small mayorless-community that many employed by the Space Program called home. It was sandwiched between the mainland and world-famous Cocoa Beach with causeways spanning across the Banana and Indian Rivers. More than that, it was home. Michael had moved often in his twenty years, but it was here that he felt he truly belonged. It was here where he had graduated high school as a varsity football player and where he had his first kiss and some of the best memories and friends of his life. After the time he had spent away in the cooling weather of Fort Benning, Georgia, it felt surreal to be back amongst the bristling palm trees and salty air heavy with humidity, even now in late November.

          The only company he had rest in the passenger seat in a hard plastic sheath: an M-9 bayonet that his father had given him several years ago after his deployment to Afghanistan. He always had it within reach since his Beretta pistol was locked away in the trunk.

          In front of him a beige car drove painfully slow - several miles-per-hour under the speed limit - and with a smile Michael remembered what his good friend Ryan Blackburn had once told him.  

          "Why is it old people always drive beige cars?" Ryan had asked years ago. Then as now, undoubtedly a hunched over woman well past retirement was behind the wheel. 

          How long ago had it been since he and Ryan had hung out constantly and their biggest worries concerned high school problems? So much had happened since, it almost felt like memories that belonged to someone else. Michael had once believed that he and all of his friends were all going to end up at the same college and in ROTC for the Army. After senior year had begun, the realities began to sink in. Only one in their group would end up in ROTC. Ryan ended up ditching the plan for college and enlisting in the Marine Corps. Michael ended up enlisting as an infantryman in the U.S. Army, wanting to see the military from more than just an officer's perspective. He wanted to be a private and see how things worked before attempting to lead as a lieutenant. His career was delayed by a U.S. military downsizing and an ankle injury he had received playing football. Once the waiver had cleared, he had gone to Fort Benning for One Station Unit Training, which he had just completed a few days earlier. The experience was more difficult than he anticipated, but also much more rewarding. Nonetheless, it felt great to be taking his two weeks of leave after seventeen weeks of isolation and rigid structure.

         He flicked his turn signal and turned right onto Coconut Drive. The road was long and straight, ending with a cul-de-sac . Midway down the road he slowed and pulled into the yard of a house already adorned with colorful strands of Christmas lights that swayed gently in the winds. The Rodriguez's house was usually festive for the holidays, but it looked like Mr. Rodriguez had wasted no time putting up the decorations with the passing of Thanksgiving two days past. Several cars were already in the yard and driveway: a baby blue Chevy Malibu that belonged to Ryan Blackburn, a faded green Mazda Six that was Miguel Hodges', and a newer model red Mustang that Sarah Mason drove.

          Michael shut off his car and stepped out, closing the door with a small thud. He and his car were awash with the pale orange light from the nearby street lamp. In its light, it was much easier to navigate the half-hidden power cords for the colorful displays that snaked through the grass like tripwire. Mrs. Rodriguez was outside the front door near their small bench talking on the phone. A heavy-set woman with a kind heart but prone to worrying, Michael had gotten to know her well in his last year of high school. When she saw him, she tilted the phone away from her mouth and covered the receiver with her semi-paralyzed left hand and said, "Hey, Michael! Oh my goodness, it's good to see you!" She lifted herself off the bench with some effort and shuffled over to him to give him a hug and kiss on the cheek. "How was training? There's some food in the kitchen if you're hungry. I made some tacos."

          "It was great. Kind of surreal to be a soldier now, though. But you know me, I'm always hungry," Michael replied thankfully. He opened the door as she returned to her gossipy phone call. A German shepherd met him at the door whining for attention with curved tail wagging. Stooping down, Michael began to scratch the dog behind the ears who lifted a hind leg in appreciation. "Hey Rocky! You a good boy? Yeah, you are," he said to the dog. Rocky folded his ears back in reply and licked at the Michael's fingers.

          The living room where he knelt had been transformed to boast a Christmas atmosphere complete with a tree alive with multi-colored lights woven along the branches. A variety of holiday-themed knick knacks sat on small tables and shelves next to framed pictures of the family. The hung photographs of Jake and Addison Rodriguez were adorned with garland and a small snowman dangled from the ceiling at the entrance into the house's only hallway. It was from there that most of the noise was coming from, but Michael headed for the kitchen first. Mr. Rodriguez, a mustached NASA retiree who was quiet but intelligent looked up and greeted him. They exchanged brief words of exasperation about politics and training before Michael decided he'd get food later. He gave Rocky a passing scratch as he turned down into the narrow hallway. The first door on the left was the old room used mostly for storage, the first on the right the bathroom, and farther down were Addison's and Jake's rooms. The noise seemed to coming from Jake's room, the last door on the right that was slightly ajar, allowing a small sliver of yellow light to pour into the dark hallway.

          He pushed it open and the noise quieted as everyone turned to see who had arrived. Sarah Mason sat on a chair by the desk on the far side of the room, Ryan Blackburn sat with a woman Michael didn't recognize on the bed, Jake Rodriguez and his sister Addison were on the floor with Levi Mercer. Emma Thompson sat against the dresser, and Miguel Hodges sat in another desk chair with a guitar in his lap. When he saw Michael, Miguel jumped up and let out a loud scream and ran to him. The tall Dominican wrapped him in a tight hug. At a little over six foot with a build to keep up with his rugby games, he was the biggest of the group. He was also one of the most spontaneous and a clown. His head had recently been shaved close all around.

          Laughing Michael smacked Miguel with a fist on the back. "What's up, Miguel?"

          "I've been jamming with Ryan. We've been learning those panty-dropping songs. You still down to sing? Holy s**t man, I can't believe you're back!" the dark-skinned boy replied as he picked the guitar back up.

          "Hell yeah! Oh!" Michael was nearly taken off his feet as Addison Rodriguez jumped onto him and hugged him tightly while yelling out "Michael! Michael! Michael!" She had become like a little sister to him, and he was fiercely protective of her, particularly when it came to boys. "I went to OSUT not Afghanistan, right?" he asked as he hugged her back. She was skinny and fairly short, but decently toned from softball and volleyball. She had grown slightly since he last saw her, but mostly she was beginning to fill out in the hips and breasts and her face was losing the childlike quality. "Damn, Addison, you're growing up, aren't you? What are you now, seven?"

          "I'm fourteen, a*****e," she said, hitting his chest.  

          Her brother, who was much quieter and more reserved greeted his friend as well. Jake was the tallest among them, despite being one of the youngest at seventeen.

          "We didn't think you'd be back yet," Jake said as they shook hands then embraced. "When did you graduate?"

          "Only about a week ago, then we got our leave and I got my car from my Aunt's house after Thanksgiving there and drove down to see you guys. I'll probably go visit my parents in a week or so, then go to my duty station. Guess where it is."

          "Back to Benning?"

          "Back to f*****g Benning."

          Sarah leaned forward and stole the Monster Energy hat from Jake's head and put it on hers backwards, prompting Jake to turn and start grabbing for it. She swatted at his hand, giggling.

          When he finally got the hat back, Sarah stood and went to Michael, grabbing him and pulling him close with enthusiasm. They were longtime friends, with her, Ryan, Michael, and later Miguel becoming inseparable during their high school years. Sarah's dark hair had gotten longer since he last saw her, coming down nearly past her breasts. "Growing it out, finally?" he asked amused.

          "It really was so much easier to put up if I never let it go past my shoulders, but I think the long hair's growing on me. How was basic and AIT?  Or what did you call it, OSUT?"

          "Yeah, One Station Unit Training. I was in the same damn place for sixteen weeks, and don't even get me started on reception. That's where happiness goes to die. But it was awesome, I got to do s**t that no other job gets to do. Kicking in doors and clearing rooms and all that high speed stuff. What about you, how's UF?"

          Sarah extended her arms out, fingers curled and facing each other like the mouth of an alligator and made the "mouth" chomp. She was a freshman at the University of Florida, home of the Gators. "It's a lot of fun. You wouldn't believe the games, they get so intense!"

          "Go Seminoles," Jake said playfully.

          "Shut the f**k up," Sarah replied, grabbing a marker off the desk and throwing it at him. "Anyway, I decided to major in psychology. Did you get my letters?"

          "I did. I never thought getting mail could be so exciting, but trust me it was. You said something about you getting involved in a certain program that you claimed you would never do."

          Sarah, while a part of JROTC in high school, had been adamant that she was only doing it because she liked the people in it and had no intention of continuing on in college. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but the military wasn't it. However, in one of her letters she told Michael that she had actually enrolled in the ROTC program at UF, something he could hardly believe. He initially thought she was just messing with him.

          She laughed. "Yeah, yeah, I know, crazy, right? I'm now cadet private Mason. Can you believe it?"

          "Hardly," Michael admitted. "You were so sure that you weren't going to do it at the college level."

          "I don't know, it looked fun and I missed it a little. Not so much the uniform inspection, but wearing the ACU isn't bad."

          "Come here, brobeans." Ryan got up from the bed, impatient. "Sarah can wait to tell you all her boring stories," The two embraced, two men as close as brothers. They had met over seven years ago, when Michael was skinny and lanky and Ryan quite plump. Both had been "cool" with their long hair and don't-give-a-s**t attitudes. Now they both were muscular and fit, a deal taller (though Ryan now stood several inches above Michael), and each with high and tight haircuts. Neither had true ambitions to be warriors when they had met those years ago, but now both aspired to be officers, one Army and one Marine Corps. So much had changed, yet the two remained bound by a tight friendship. "But really, how was training? Better yet, how was MEPS?"

          Michael shook his head and laughed. "It was MEPS, man, everything I expected and more. Two hours of medical processing and paperwork and then six hours of hurry-up-and-wait. Although that morning I forgot about the piss test, so imagine the sweetest round-bellied old man you can and a woman behind a frosted glass window just staring at my junk while I just stood there going, 'I'm so sorry, I went this morning.' That was an experience."

          "Dude, I f*****g go to MEPS next week!" Levi Mercer almost shouted. By this point, everyone had grown accustomed to him just being a loud person. "I'm so excited, but I'm kind of scared. Not like for MEPS, but just because I'm joining the Army! It's crazy!" Levi laughed and grabbed Michael and lifted him off the ground. A transfer from Little Rock, Arkansas to Merritt Island, Levi was a tall goofy seventeen year old who looked much older. He was a senior and working on his enlistment process. He put Michael down before sitting next to Addison and grasping for her hand.

          After talking a bit more with Levi, Michael went up to Emma. "Nope, I'm not standing. You come to me," she said defiantly. He crossed his arms and looked at her with equal resolve. Her vibrant blue eyes stared back at him, and she crossed her arms over her chest, covering the cleavage her shirt revealed.

          Michael reached down and pressed the tip of his index finger against her forehead. Her brow furrowed instantly and she scowled. "I will end you," she warned. Unphased, Michael kept his finger where it was. She struck out and punched him in the thigh and he collapsed onto one knee, but his finger remained in place. Her jaw began to quiver, and once it did she slapped her hands to her face and groaned in frustration. It was a habit that happened whenever she became frustrated, and she did everything in her power to avoid it happening. In most people's opinion, she was a cute girl made cuter by her quirks, but in her mind they doomed her to be a cat-lady.

          "Hug me, Emma," he said, pressing his finger harder on her forehead.

          "Go die," she said firmly, then smiled and wrapped her arms around him and squeezed hard. "We've missed you, Michael. You're lucky you got here on Thanksgiving break. What did you do for it?"

          "Had a dinner at my aunt's. I would have stayed longer to avoid more driving, but I'd say worth it to get to hang out with you guys for the next few days."

          His leg throbbing slightly, Michael turned to the last person in the room he hadn't said hello to. She stood with a small smile on her pretty face. But it was her eyes he was most drawn to; emerald disks with small golden flecks around the iris. "Hey, I'm Michael," he introduced with an outstretched hand.

          She smiled and took it. "Sabrina. Sabrina Barnes, I'm one of Sarah's friends from UF. Turns out we both came from Merritt Island."

          "Awesome, you majoring in the same thing and in ROTC?"

          "Oh, God, no! I couldn't imagine going around in the mud and saying 'Yes, sir,' to everyone all the time. No, I'm actually an art major. Couldn't you tell I'm kind of a pansy?"

          He took in another look at her. Her jeans fit tight on her well shaped legs, her hips were a little on the skinny side, but her breasts were full and her face was striking. Her dark hair was cut into layers and went past her shoulders. From what Michael could tell, she was beautiful. As for if she was a pansy, it wasn't physically obvious. "Nope, not seeing it," he said with a grin.

          "That's because you're blind then," she replied. "Oh, what's this?" She poked a finger under his right sleeve and lifted it slightly, revealing ink. "May I?"

          "Go for it."

          She lifted his sleeve, revealing muscled triceps and deltoids. On his shoulder was a fresh tattoo, the skin around it still slightly pink and raw. It was a helmet dangling by the chin strap from the arm of a cross. Under it read the name SGT MARK SMITH. Sabrina turned her eyes up to him. "Who's Mark Smith?"

          "My cousin," Michael said. "Just had a little girl not too long ago. We used to play a lot growing up as kids. Almost every Christmas we'd go see my aunt and uncle, and Mark was closest to my age. He was like the big brother I wanted to have. He was in Afghanistan, got killed while I was in training. I didn't hear about it until I got my phone back the day before graduation and talked to my mom. This arm is reserved for the names of those who don't make it home. I pray I never have to put any more names on it. But if I do, I want them to be remembered and with me forever."

          Sabrina looked back at the tattoo, her eyes transfixed before looking up to Michael's eyes. "That's incredible. Mine isn't nearly as sentimental."

          He nodded to her. "Let me see."

          She lifted her shirt on the right side, revealing words in cursive, eloquent script just under her bra strap.

          The world is but a canvas to our imagination.

          Her cheeks had gone slightly pink, which Michael found very cute. "It's good," he reassured her as she let her shirt drift back down, covering the inked flesh.

          "It's kind of silly," she returned, but shrugged. "It was a Henry David Thoreau quote I absolutely fell in love with my senior year. I decided on my eighteenth birthday to get it  Kind of an impulse thing."

          "You'll have to show me your art sometime."

          Addison cut in, turning to look at the two. "Show her your art too, Michael. He's crazy good."

          Sabrina raised an eyebrow and seemed slightly taken aback. "You're an artist?"

          He nodded confidently. "I've loved drawing ever since I was a kid. Recently I've started getting asked to do commissioned portraits, but I don't care doing them much. It takes away the joy if I'm doing it for money, plus the Army will keep me busy enough."

          She crossed her arms and let out a grunt of disbelief. "You'll have to show me sometime."

          "I will. And you do the same."

          "It's a deal."

          "Hey, Jake," Mercer almost yelled, "want to get your a*s kicked in Halo?" Jake agreed, and Ryan jumped in as well, grabbing for a controller off the bed. The Xbox 360 hummed to life and the system's logo appeared on the flatscreen TV. Michael sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed a pillow to toss down to Levi. Rocky nosed the door open, sniffed around loudly with tail wagging slowly, allowed a few scratches from Emma, then trotted out of the room happily.

          While the three playing Xbox navigated the game's menus, Michael turned to Sarah. The two of them had a dynamic history. They had become fast friends in her freshman year, they had developed crushes for each other, but Michael had too many girls to chase after (he grew to learn more than one was too many), and she had no desire to stand for it. Their friendship had ended for several months which served to open the boy's eyes, but they had made amends as time went on. It had been a slow process, but eventually things returned back to normal. While there was usually a bit of tension with the two when things got stressful, they were still close friends. He began to talk with her again about school.

          "I want to go to UF," Emma added from her spot against the dresser,  her face a grimace.

          "What's stopping you?" Michael asked. The girl laughed incredulously.

          "Have you seen my grades? There's no way I can get into that school on scholarship."

          Sarah scoffed. "Oh big deal, one freaking B. And that's while juggling being a company commander and SGA vice president and lacrosse and all the other crap you do, Emma. Stop being ridiculous."

          Sticking her lip out and flaring her nostrils, she responded with a scowl before giggling and saying, "I'm sorry, Sarah. You know I love you!" The girls each made a heart with their fingers to each other. Before Sarah left to Gainesville the two had been very close friends and were giddy to be together again.

          "F*****g s**t!" Mercer cursed in an frustrated shout, slamming a fist on the carpeted floor while Jake chuckled. On the screen Mercer's Spartan lie dead with Jake's jumping on top of it. "Your brother's a freaking cheater, Addison," he said good-naturedly but still loudly as he punched Jake in the knee. Jake killed Mercer several more times in the span of minutes; the string of obscenities became more vulgar with each death.

          Michael leapt up off the bed as a thirst began to poke at him. "I'm going to get some sweet tea," he announced.

          "I'll go with you." The bed creaked and Sabrina followed him out into the hallway. Behind them Miguel began playing a Mumford and Sons tune on the guitar. They ducked under the hanging snowman and made their way into the modest kitchen. Colored ceramic dishes were stacked near the sink and a tub of washed silverware was farther down the counter near a wooden knife rack. Several loaves of bread were stacked without organization on the circular table in the center.

         The refrigerator door hummed as it was pulled open. "Awesome, they've got Publix sweet tea. Nothing else is nearly as good." Michael grabbed the gallon container that was half-full with a red-brown liquid and closed the door behind him.

          "Green tea is better," Sabrina countered, the smallest whisper of a southern accent in her voice.

          "Not even close. Want some?"

          "It is too better! Have you ever had green tea?" her accent came through a little thicker as she spoke. Michael laughed lightly and shook his head. "What?" she demanded, become flustered.

          "Your accent is ridiculous," he replied, an amused smile lingering on his face.

          "I don't have an accent!" the tattooed girl said as the accent came through the thickest it had yet.

          Still chuckling, Michael looked at her and gave her a skeptical raise of an eyebrow. "Don't have an accent? Did you even hear you say that last sentence? You're from what, Georgia right?"

          Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow and offer her skepticism. "Virginia."

          "I was close. So how'd you end up down here?" He grabbed two clear plastic cups from the large stacks the Rodriguez's kept in lieu of traditional glasses and poured the thick tea into both.

          "I really liked UF's art program," Sabrina took the tea and downed a third of her cup. "That's good, but still not as good as green tea. But no, I've actually lived down here for quite awhile with my dad."

          "Really? Well I guess that makes sense. You don't look anything like a country girl."

          "I'm definitely not a country girl. Just growing up around it all the time, sometimes the accent comes out! Oh s**t, I heard the accent there that time." She took another swig.

          Rocky came trotting up, tail wagging and whining as he nuzzled their legs. Michael let Rocky out into the backyard, then he and Sabrina refilled their cups and headed back toward Jake's room alive with the sounds of Halo and an acoustic guitar. "So can you draw people?" she asked as they walked. "My friend convinced me to do a portrait class next semester, so I'm trying to work on getting better so I don't embarrass myself."

          Michael rolled his eyes. "You won't, I'm sure. I'm just like you though. People compliment my work, but I think it looks like s**t. Artists are way too critical on themselves."

          Sabrina nudged the door open with her foot and gasped, jumping back and pressing her back against the wall as Levi ran out laughing with Addison in tight pursuit. "The hell?" Michael asked bewildered, holding his tea up so it wouldn't be knocked from his hand. Inside the room Jake was clutching his side from laughing and everyone else was grinning. "What'd we miss?" Michael asked with a grin.

          Before anyone could answer all the power within the house shut with a deep and abrupt hum that faded into silence. The room had gone dark as pitch in an instant. The TV, lamps, fan, everything; all was dark and quiet.

          "It wasn't storming outside, was it?" Jake asked, a faceless voice in the darkness.

          "No," came Emma's. "It was actually really clear."

          "Maybe a transformer or something blew. I'll just - hey, my phone's dead, does anyone have a flashlight app or something?" Sarah could be heard trying to turn her phone on and smacking it against her palm to give it some encouragement.

          Michael switched his cup to his left hand and pulled his phone out of his pocket with his right. He tapped the small power button on the side.

          Nothing happened.

          He did it again. A third time. No light shone to break through the darkness. He held the button down in an attempt to restart it. The phone remained lifeless in his hand. "Hey, guys, my phone's not working."

          "Me neither."

          "Yeah. What the f**k?"

          "Solar flare, maybe?"

          "At night, dumbass?"

          "Shut up, I'm just throwing out ideas."

          The voices were all talking together creating a jumbled cacophony. A small crack and a muted thud came from a wall when someone tossed their phone in frustration. Michael grew tired of the tea in his hand and swallowed it all before tossing the cup idly aside with plans to clean it up later. With the scant light from behind the shut blinds, his eyes were beginning to adjust, but only enough for him to see the vaguest silhouettes. Black figures against an even blacker backdrop.

          "Beth?" Mr. Rodriguez's voice came loud and inquiring after his wife.

          "Ben? What happened?" her voice responded from somewhere in the living room. "I was on the phone and the call died and all the lights went out. Do we have any flashlights?"

          The frustration was apparent in Mr. Rodriguez's voice. "Well, Beth, because I can't see, I can't really find the flashlights."

          "Mom, Dad, I think my phone's broken." Addison talked from somewhere within the living room as well. A few seconds later Levi affirmed the same.

          Michael groped in front of him, found Sabrina's shoulder, and shimmied past her down the hallway. His palms glided against the drywall, bumping against the wooden doorframe of the storage room. After an awkward stumble at the end of the hallway, he felt the air open to the more spacious living room. From there he found the front door easily. With a twist of the knob the thick wooden door came open, allowing the pale moonlight to spill in and offer some respite from the blackness. The air had adopted a cooler breeze that whisked by faintly against Michael's face. He welcomed its touch.

          "It's brighter out here, even without the street lights," he called back into the house. "It feels great, too. I'd say let's just stay out here until the power comes back."

          Power.

          Michael held his phone out in front of him, now visible but no less lifeless. Even if every single power grid in the state had gone out, his phone should still work on the battery life it had, and he was certain he had plenty of battery when he arrived.

          Someone stepped out of the house next to him. He turned and saw Emma. "Hey," she said amicably. "Still no luck?"

          He frowned. "Not even a little."

          "Me neither. Looks like some of the other neighbors are coming out. And I think that guy has a big flashlight." She pointed across the street to a man with a large boxy light in his right hand and was using his left to vigorously smack it while muttering indiscernibly.

          "This is f*****g weird."

          "Language."

          Michael grinned. "I forgot you were trying to stop cussing. And to think I thought maybe you were trying to be rebellious for awhile."

          "When have I ever been rebellious? I'm the biggest straight edge there is." She may have been right. With a plan to stay abstinent until marriage and an intense adherence to the rules, she hardly stepped out of line. When she was sixteen Michael had been her first kiss, and he swore she blushed every time she saw him for the next two days straight. Michael couldn't imagine her being anything but an obedient and quirky girl, but he wouldn't really prefer her to be anything else.

          From inside there was a muffled gasp of pain followed by a small voice moaning, "Ow, ow, ow." Addison appeared outside frowning heavily and clutching at her shin. "Hit the table," she explained looking pitiful.

          "Proud of you," Michael remarked, prompting Emma to demand he be nice. Slowly the others began to file outside after tripping about in the darkness. Miguel clutched the snowman that had been hanging in front of the hallway. "Thing scared the s**t out of me."

          After several minutes of awkward standing Sarah went to the road and sat cross-legged on the asphalt. Michael and Ryan both joined her. Around them in driveways the neighbors were multiplying and had begun to mingle and talk in hushed, confused tones. No longer being shy of the light pollution, the blue-white stars saturated the deep sky like millions of tiny crystals of ice.

          "You know what's crazy?" Sarah asked to her friends. "It's been five years since the three of us first hung out."

          "That is crazy. I'm trying to remember what we did." Ryan pondered for a minute before letting out a small laugh. "I remember! We went to Michael's house and decided to go to those woods a few blocks down, except there were only two bikes."

          "And you had to take that scooter!" Michael finished. "You looked so stupid on that little thing."

          "And I ended up getting it on the way back," Sarah mused. "But we went to that huge dirt mound in the woods and played on the rope swing that hung above it. Then you guys took me to that stupid abandoned house."

          "Hey, it would've been fun if Ryan hadn't dropped a tissue on your head and told you it was a spider." At the house at the end of Michael's old street the old windows had all been busted out with cinderblocks by one the hyperactive teen neighbors, and the plywood that had been put up afterwards had also been torn down by other local kids. Inside the house was an incomplete interior, with only the wood framing standing. However, hundreds of boxes and innumerable pieces of junk littered the floors of both stories. From giant metal sailfish to every type of tool to creepy boxed China dolls, there was a little of everything. It was the upstairs rooms the boys had been eager to show to Sarah, as it contained the faded pages of a few dozen ripped Playboys from the seventies. Sarah, then only a freshmen, had been disturbed by the sheer quantity of naked women photos that littered the floor, and the boys were bemused at her reaction. On their way out, Ryan had dropped a tissue onto Sarah's head and said it was a spider which triggered a spastic reaction from the girl, who punched Ryan several times in the stomach for his actions. Michael was admittedly shocked that his friend would have pulled such a stunt, since both he and Sarah were both intensely arachnophobic.

          "S**t, it doesn't feel like it was five years ago. It really doesn't." Ryan lifted his arms and flexed. "But I guess back then I didn't have these guns!"

          The other two rolled their eyes. "You're retarded," Michael said. "Oh, that reminds me, so I saw another old woman driving a beige car today. Why is that?"

          "You know, I'm not sure. Maybe it's a law; like once you're sixty-five you need to have a beige car. It's like a warning beacon to other drivers."
          "So what does a baby blue Malibu mean?" Sarah asked.
          "It means it's time for my dad to buy me that sixty-eight Camaro. I hate this stupid car. You know my mom still makes me use the freaking sun shades on every window when I visit. I explained the whole window tinting thing to her again but she won't listen. Says it's 'her car' and that she makes the rules. It's so stupid. Like it wasn't bad enough that I had to drive it around."
          Michael shrugged. "At least you don't have to worry about sliding around the road half the year. Any time I head up north or I'm in the mountains and it rains or snows, my car fishtails like crazy."
          "Don't complain, at least you can pick up chicks in your car."
          "What, you mean you don't pick up a lot of chicks at West Point? Oh right, no duty-booty." He laughed. "That blows. But at least you don't really need a car there, otherwise you'd be driving that panty dropper up in New York, too. I'm glad I didn't try to go, I would have had to find someone to hold onto my pistol."

          "That you'll get a lot of use out of while it's locked up at Fort Benning?" Sarah chimed in with a slightly mocking tone.

          He shrugged. "I don't really get to use the bayonet while I'm there, either, I still keep it around. But with a pistol I'd be able to go to the range and not have to rent. And it's much better for protection. It's such a pain in the a*s that I can't buy pistol ammo myself until next year"

          "Pistol ammo and alcohol. Twenty-one is a good birthday," Ryan agreed. "Oh, dude, guess what I found! Here, I'll go get it." He pushed himself onto his feet and jogged to the back door of his Malibu. It clicked as he pulled the handle and the West Point sophomore bent down and began rummaging. Sarah and Michael exchanged glances of confusion and shrugged. Ryan apparently found what he was looking for, shut the door behind him and tossed something up to his friend. Michael saw a large oval approaching and caught it with no less confusion until it was firmly in his hands. When he realized what he held he couldn't help but laugh.

           It was a plush potato with a large cartoony grin and two overly large eyes as well as hands and feet that dangled from the body. The fabric was fraying and there were smoky wisps of stuffing poking from tiny holes along the seams. He gave it a small squeeze.

          In its prime, the toy used to shout "Hot Potato!" and play an upbeat rendition of Pop Goes the Weasel until a shrill whistle indicated that the player holding it had lost. Almost seven years ago Michael had found the spunky potato on the floor of the closet amidst the massive stacks of clothing. He and Ryan would peg it at each other late at night as it ticked away until the whistle, Ryan from his bed and Michael from his inflatable raft on the floor where he slept. More often than not, Family Guy ran in the background on the small TV with Peter trying to talk over the silly song from the potato's voice box.

          Now, however, the only sound the toy emitted was a broken ghost of a voice with an unrecognizable and static-cursed song. In its own way, it made Michael a little sad. It was an aging relic from his childhood that was dying, and almost signifying the coming end of his youth. He was twenty now and a solider, excited for the opportunities he had, but even so it was bittersweet to know that the simplicity and carefree life of youth was never returning. Gently he tossed the potato back. "That thing was ridiculous. I can't believe how much entertainment it gave us, though. Things seemed more fun back then."

          I'm already twenty, Michael thought with some apprehension. When did time start moving so fast?

          "Hey, look what I found!" Miguel said excitedly as he came out of the house, his words obscured by bits of cookie that flaked from his mouth as he talked. He held up a bag of Keebler M-and-M cookies he had managed to find in the darkness. "Want some?"

          "Sure," the three agreed. Miguel sat next to them and left the cookies open within the center of the circle they had formed on the asphalt. "Hey, Miguel," Sarah asked. "What's your view on spiders?"

          Miguel crunched on a cookie and looked thoughtful before answering. "They're scary little b******s and I hate them, why?"

          Sarah punched Ryan in the shoulder with a meaty smack. "That's for the tissue thing. I still don't forgive you."

          "Sarah, I really did plan to get him back," Michael said, grinning. "I wanted to put an empty terrarium in his room and cover it with a towel and say it was his birthday present. Then I'd remove the towel, look alarmed and search the inside, and say, 'There was a tarantula in here.' He wouldn't have slept in his own house."

          "Hey man, spiders don't mess. They can smell fear," Ryan retorted.

          Sarah nodded. "They have spidey-sense for that kind of..."

          Far off but still unmistakable was the sound of a fighter jet, its scream hushed to a whisper by distance. "Was that over Patrick Air Force Base?" Miguel asked.

          "I guess it'd make sense for them to be flying around. I'm not surprised they have power, though." Despite her words, Sarah still frowned.

          Levi was speaking to Addison and holding her hand, but he said something quietly to her and she nodded before he approached the neighbors in more of a strut than a walk. The growing circle of concerned neighbors now included the Rodriguez parents. They eyed the teen as he approached. "Does anyone know what's going on?" he asked.

          "I'm thinking solar flares," said the man from across the street. "Takes out all power."

          Some of the others weren't so confident and shook their heads, muttering. "No, no. Scientists can see flares coming before they happen and would have issued a warning. Those can't just sneak up on us," a man with a five o'clock shadow and a white Hanes T-shirt said.

          "What, cable news and weathermen can't make mistakes?" someone else snapped.

          Another from the neighborhood sighed. "Weathermen don't predict solar flares."

          "Well did you guys hear that jet?" Levi asked, trying to get the point back to their lack of power as opposed to meteorologists.

          The man with the large flashlight still in hand shrugged nonchalantly. "I'd expect the military to still have power. I'm sure they have backup generators or something."

          Mr. Rodriguez shook his head. "This isn't a matter of the power grid though. Your flashlight doesn't work, phones aren't working, these are things that should work even without the need of backup generators."

          The man with the flashlight simply shrugged once more.

          Michael placed a hand on the cracking asphalt to support himself as he rose and made his way to the circle where few stood arguing and many more stood with their arms wrapped around themselves listening quietly. Two small children, no older than five clung to their mother's legs and listened, but aside from them most children were spread around the center of the street playing. A handful of middle-schoolers were throwing nasty looks at Addison and Sabrina who made grotesque faces back then laughed.

          "What about EMP?" Levi suggested, his face betraying no hints of sarcasm or mockery.

          The man in the Hanes shirt crossed his arms. "A what?"

          Levi Mercer shifted uncomfortably with all the eyes on him with none of them being understanding.

          "He suggested an EMP," Michael said. "ElectroMagnetic Pulse, it's a blast of energy that messes with electronic and magnetic fields. From what I know, the military uses it to wipe out electronics."

          "Oh Jesus, here we go," spat Hanes shirt man as he threw up his arms.

          "Look," Michael defended, "I'm not saying that's what happened, I'm just letting you know what it is. Realistically, it's not completely out of the question. The Navy does a lot of weapons testing over at Cape Canaveral or maybe something happened with the Air Force at Patrick, but accidents happen. At this point you can't rule it out."

          "Thanks, man," Levi said, smacking Michael on the back.

          "Yes we can rule that out," Hanes shirt retorted, "this is just paranoid fantasy of kids who spend too much time playing video games."

          Michael pursed his lips in anger, but Sarah appeared behind him and grabbed him by the arm to lead him away. "Just ignore him, he's just as concerned as we are." Michael shook his head and glared. He hated when people took others' thoughts and pompously disregarded them as irrelevant.

          "I was just explaining what it was." He frowned. "I don't know why that offended him so much. Mercer said EMP and I was just -"

          "I know, I know. It just wouldn't do any good to get people more riled up or scared, you know?"

          Reluctantly Michael conceded. "Yeah. I suppose you're right." He turned to look back at the huddle of nervous people, some of whom tried to mask it with bravado.

          "I'm always right," Sarah affirmed with a smirk. "Here, have a cookie." She released his arm and gave him a weak smile, which he returned. Emma approached them and asked if they had any news.

          "The guy in the plain white shirt is an a*s, but other than that no." Sarah abruptly turned her eyes to the sky. "Do you guys hear that?"

          For a moment Michael heard nothing but the whispers of the breeze through the palm fronds, the giggling of children, and the hushed voices of adults. Rocky had begun to bark, his curved tail flicking anxiously. The still night offered tiny sounds of normality, as if to reassure them things were okay. But a small whine began to emerge from the east. The street grew quiet as more people started to gaze toward the heavens. His eyes scanned the sky. The stars stared right back.

          Then he saw them. Two small shapes emerging out from the sky's deep abyss. The pair grew larger as they approached, the sound of their engines still faint. Michael let out a small sigh of relief. They were military fighter jets, probably the same they had heard earlier. Undoubtedly, Patrick Air Force Base had power. Perhaps it was just a freak solar flare or some other natural phenomena.

          Ryan approached his friend. "Michael," he said, his voice low and cautious. "Those jets are low. Like really f*****g low." Under a thin mask of indifference, Michael sensed the apprehension in Ryan's tone.

          Or was it fear?

          He turned back to the jets which were closing in at incredible speed. If they had just taken off from Patrick it would make sense that they wouldn't have much altitude yet, but the longer he watched, the more unusual and unsettling it became. The jets were dangerously low. And if they didn't alter their course, they were on a path to fly directly overhead.

          Emma slapped her hands over her ears quickly, and others immediately followed her example. For a brief moment, Michael's hands remained by his side as he stared in apprehension. Something is very wrong. At the last moment he flung his hands up and cupped his ears as the two jets screamed overhead. The shrill and powerful sound rippled through his body, rattling his bones, but the whole time he watched the jets, pivoting himself around to follow them as they soared past. In an instant they disappeared behind the curtain of tree canopies and roof tops.

          No one even had time to speak before the sky lit up in a beacon of orange and yellow light from the northwest. A surreal second passed as what seemed like a tiny sun rose from within the Indian River. The light was almost painful to look at in such stark contrast to the night's darkness.

          Before he had time to process any of it, Michael found himself on his back. He blinked a few times and grimaced at the pounding in his head. Within his ears, a small high-pitched ringing began that prevented any other sound from entering. His body tingled and a dull throb pulsed at the back of his head from hitting the asphalt. Every heartbeat felt like the thrum of a massive drum within his core.

          Slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes blurred, and he had to blink several times before they came back into focus. The sky still contained a mottled orange plume of smoke that thrust upwards like a billowing spire. That's important, he reminded himself, although at the moment he could hardly recall why. His friends lay sprawled upon the road or in the grass. A few had sat up. Michael slid his elbow down under himself to prop his body up, but the movements made him feel weak and shaky, like an old man who had just fallen. Pebbles and dirt scratched at the skin of his arm as he pushed himself into a sitting position but he hardly noticed. His strength was beginning to return in a flood.

          The incredibly high mosquito-ringing in his ear had begun to subside, and he shook his head to try and rid himself of it. Lethargy still clung to him like a disease, but it too was disappearing as the seconds passed. He might as well have been watching himself move in slow motion as he pulled his right leg in and pushed himself into a kneeling position. His head throbbed in tempo with his heart. "Sarah? Ryan?" he wheezed. Had someone punched him in the chest? It certainly felt that way.

          Screaming.

          It began to surge in around him. Everywhere, screams. It filled him with adrenaline and the groggy, slow movements gave way to urgent motion. He straightened himself up, still grimacing. Dogs barked, people wept and cursed, and a deep roar emanated from the blackening smoke plume that grew ever higher. These new sounds all reeked of chaos. He almost wished for the ringing back.

          He stepped over to Emma and offered her a hand up as nearby Ryan and Sarah had just risen. Windows were shattered and glass twinkled softly in the moonlight. Rocky whimpered with his tail between his legs. "What the f**k just happened?" Michael shouted out, louder than he intended; his ears still weren't functioning quite properly.

          He didn't receive an immediate answer. Addison sat on the ground with her legs curled to her chest, weeping as Levi and her brother Jake tried to console her. Some of the neighbors had sprinted toward their homes, while others stood or sat, eyes transfixed. Mrs. Rodriguez was nearing hysterics, her words unintelligible and watery. Michael turned to Emma. She bit her lower lip and her body shook slightly. He put an arm around her and squeezed lightly in a reassuring hug. "We'll be fine," he said, although he wasn't sure how much he believed that himself.

          She mumbled something, her voice choked with the sound of incoming tears. "What'd you say?" Michael asked quietly.

          "They just destroyed the Five-Twenty Causeway," she repeated a little louder. Frowning, Michael looked toward the smoke that was nearly the same color as the sky save for the small orange reflections from an unseen fire below the plume. She may have been right. But who were they and why would they destroy one of the bridges leading off the Island to the mainland.

          "Maybe one of the jets crashed?" Levi offered, but he didn't sound too convinced of his theory.

          Much farther north a sound rang like a deep gunshot followed a sharp whip crack. Below them the ground shook subtly. "That was Five-Twenty-Eight." It wasn't a question. The northern causeway had just been struck, there was no doubt to harbor. They were being cut off from the mainland.

          "I don't think those were American jets," the man with the flashlight called out, voicing what everyone was beginning to fear. Michael released Emma and jogged to his Charger, fumbling to pull his keys from his pocket. Without electricity the automatic unlock button was useless and he had to manually unlock it on the driver's side. The lock sprang up with a low click and he pulled the door open. Leaning in he reached for the cool hilt of the bayonet. The hard sheath had two connecters that allowed it to be fixed to a belt, but Michael's jeans fit on his waist and he wasn't wearing a belt. "S**t," he muttered. He kicked the door shut as he walked away, fastening the clasps to his waistband.

          There was another small roar coming from the far south. He stopped. "Pineda," he whispered woefully. Pineda Causeway was the last bridge connecting Merritt Island to the mainland. They were now cut off. Michael jogged up to Sarah, Ryan, and Emma. "Backpacks. We need backpacks or duffel bags. Anything durable to carry things. Water bottles, canned food, bread, essentials. Toilet paper, too, just in case. Also, see if the Rodriguez's have a first aid kit of any kind."

          Sarah nodded, and she and Emma hurried off into the darkness of the Rodriguez's house. Ryan hung back. "We may have just gotten our wish to be part of a big war, bro," he said with a melancholy smile.

          "I'm still hoping it's not this soon," Michael replied. Ryan clapped him on the shoulder before running across the front yard. Michael turned his attention to the others at the front of the house. "Miguel, Levi, I need your guys' help."

          Levi stood up straight and faced his friend. "What do you need us to do, Morrison?" he asked, eager and ready. His adrenaline was pumping and of all their friends, he appeared the most excited. Part of Michael had to admire that.

          "Weapons," Michael told the two bluntly. "Knives, bats, golf clubs, guns if at all possible. We only have my Beretta. I'm keeping it in the trunk for now, I don't want anyone to know we have it just yet." He looked around nervously at the increased panic of people nearby. "I think we're cut off from the mainland and going up Courtenay into the main part of town wouldn't do us any good if we are under attack. But to be honest, if things start to get much worse we may need weapons to defend ourselves from people trying to take advantage of the situation." He looked to Addison and Sabrina and his friends nodded in understanding. "Good. Good luck!"

          The Dominican ran off a few feet before stopping once he realized Levi wasn't beside him. Instead, Levi went to Addison and stooped to give her a tight hug and quick kiss on the lips. "Be right back, alright?"

          She nodded and wiped at her eyes. Levi smiled and sprinted towards Miguel, and the two of them rushed to Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez to ask where they kept the knives and if, by chance, they owned any firearms.

          Sabrina approached Michael.  Twin thin glistening streaks ran down her cheeks and her eyes were bloodshot, but her face was composed. "What do you need me to do?" she asked, her voice devoid of any accent now.

         "Sabrina, you go with Jake. I want you guys to go to the neighbors' houses and if they're there, see if any of them have an extra portable radio or extra water. When the power returns," (if the power returns, he thought gloomily), "a radio will be something good to have. Batteries, too. If they give you a hard time just move on, don't get into any conflict if you can avoid it. Chances are, no one is going to give you anything, but it can't hurt to try. People are going to be scared and people do crazy things when they're scared."

          "Don't worry, I've got this," Jake flicked open a small knife with the  Globe and Anchor of the Marine Corps on it. Michael let out a small laugh and nodded.

          "Just be careful."

          Sabrina hesitated, her hands toying with a small flat LED light she had found. She pressed the button and a small light flicked on and she pocketed it. "I guess it was too simple to be affected? What do we do if they aren't home?"

          Michael had to think about it. He looked toward the smear of smoke in the sky and decided. "If the doors are unlocked, go inside and take what you can if no one's there. First aid kits, backpacks, things of that nature. I'd say at this point, if they aren't home, it's fair game." Nothing about stealing felt good to him, but he would prefer they had what they needed than be stuck without it. If people had left their homes already, which many and more were doing, they forfeit everything still inside. Even so, it left him with a sour taste in his mouth. "No valuables. Just survival essentials. You remember your first aid training from JROTC, Jake? You know the kind of stuff we're looking for. Prepare for the worst and pray for the best. But I'm serious, be extremely careful. Panic is dangerous."

          Jake and Sabrina ran for the neighbor's houses, but Addison remained on the ground clutching her knees tightly. Michael knelt next to her. "Addison," he said softly. She turned her large brown eyes up to him and a fresh tear rolled down the side of her face. "I need you with us," he said, his voice reassuring but firm.

          "I can't do anything," she responded meekly. "I'm too scared to be of any use." Her gaze fell to her shoes.

          "Are you kidding? We still need you. Addison, I won't lie to you and tell you I know what's going on," he took a deep breath, "but my gut instincts tell me that we need to get out of here, off the Island. For that to happen, we all need to be strong. You're with your family and your friends, and we'll all make it out of this. Whatever this is. But I need your help."

          She looked back up at him again. "What should I do?"

          Michael turned to look back over his shoulder. Mrs. Rodriguez was still in hysterics, and she appeared to be swaying as she stood and threatening to collapse. Mr. Rodriguez was talking to her, but he was also telling her that he needed to get a few things from the house. "Go comfort your mother," Michael told the fourteen year old girl. "She needs that. She needs to see you being strong, and it will make her feel strong." He smiled to her and stood, offering her a hand. She returned a wan smile and her eyes still harbored doubt, but her small hand took his and he pulled her to her feet. Slowly she found her courage and wiped her eyes on her sleeve before going to talk down her mother.

          Michael entered into the wide open door of the Rodriguez's. Drawers could be heard opening in the kitchen, as well as the tinkling of silverware. Bags crinkled and crunched and there were a few muttered curses in the dark. Blindly, he felt and groped his way down the hallway into the first bedroom on the left. The sliding closet doors were easy to find and he wrenched them open. Fumbling, he sifted his way through clothes and boxes, hoping to find any type of bag he could use. His hands fell upon nothing that felt familiar or useful.

          "Ryan? Michael?" Miguel's voice came from the front door.

          "In the kitchen!" Ryan called back.

          "No luck at all! So I came back to see if you guys had any plans. What are we going to do? I want to see if my parents are okay,"

          There was a loud clanking sound that echoed in the kitchen as a pot fell. Sarah let out a small yelp of surprise. "I think we need to get off the Island," Michael shouted, still searching the closet in vain. "D****t."

          With partially adjusted eyes he shimmied out and down the hallway, past the living room, and into the kitchen where he almost ran into Miguel.

          "How do we get out of Merritt Island?" he asked. "The cars don't work and I'm assuming there aren't any other bridges."

          "There aren't," Michael agreed.

          "What about a boat?" Emma suggested as she dropped water bottles into Addison's school backpack. It was true. Coconut Drive was perpendicular to South Tropical Trail, and directly beyond that road was the river. There were several dozen piers, perhaps some still had boats roped to them.

          "We'd have to steal it," Sarah warned. "What if some family wanted to use their boat, only to find it gone? That's kind of messed up if we did that."

          "Still having integrity is good, but will it keep us alive? We still don't know how serious this is." Michael stepped lightly to the knife rack, carefully avoiding the dark lump that was a crouched Ryan. "But I think a boat may be our best option. With luck, maybe someone will have a large fishing boat and can take all of us. If not, we may have to resort to taking one. Let's worry about that when we get there, though. What have we got so far?"

          "Maybe half a case of water bottles, two bottles of seltzer water, some canned stuff, I couldn't tell you what it is, two loaves of bread, and some band-aids." Emma sighed. "There's not a lot here."

          Michael drew a few of the knives out from their wooden rack and ran his finger along the blades. They were all fairly dull and didn't come close to breaking his skin. "These knives aren't going to do us much good, either." They weren't nearly as sharp or dangerous as the bayonet that hung from his jeans' waistband.

          Reluctantly he took six of the knives, just in case, and headed back outside. As he stepped back out into the better lighting the moon provided, Levi was running up. He had an assortment of things in his arms. It didn't look much like weaponry. "What'd you find?" Michael asked with deep curiosity.

          Levi slowed to a halt. "A few tools, a crowbar, and some flashlights. Don't look at me like that, I know they aren't working now, but who knows. And we also found a flare gun. This guy had just left his garage open and we found this stuff in there. Do you have anything we can put this in."

          "We're short on bags," Michael admitted. "Maybe see if you can find Jake's backpack. But hurry, I don't want to stay here much longer."

          "Yeah, me neither. People are starting to get spooked."

          It was a gross understatement. People howled at their vehicles as they tried to start them to no avail. Many had gathered a few belongings, some fled with only the clothes they wore, others remained defiant and locked themselves within their homes. From somewhere the next street over came a loud crash and glass shattering. Michael wondered if complete pandemonium would ensue within the next few minutes or several hours . Panic was an infectious and dangerous virus.

          Levi set his finds on the grass and made his way back inside the house. Michael looked at his watch, but the digital readout was blank. How long had it been since the bridges had been destroyed? Five minutes? Ten? He had no perception of time. How much more would they be given? He couldn't imagine they had much more to spend lingering.

          "Just get everything in the car, Ben!" Mrs. Rodriguez was almost screeching, throwing her hands down for emphasis. Addison stood by talking but her words fell on deaf ears.

          Mr. Rodriguez look flustered and frustrated. "Beth, the cars won't start. It'd be a waste of time. We need to go get everything we can carry and try to get out of here."

          "Mr. Rodriguez!" Michael called out. The older man turned. "We're already almost finished with that. We've got food, water, some basic toiletries, and some protection," he held up the dull kitchen knives in his right hand. "We're almost done. Do you have any ideas where to go?"

          Mr. Rodriguez frowned deeply, a sign that he was pondering. "I'd say Cocoa Beach. The bridges are still intact that way. Might be we can make it to Patrick."

          Michael felt a surge of skepticism. "Would the Air Force base take us? I feel like the base would be on lockdown. I'm sure we aren't the only ones who would try to seek shelter there."

          "What did you have in mind?"

          "We were thinking about finding a boat and trying to get to the mainland. I'm sure there's a few abandoned ones tied up around here. We're lucky we're only two minutes from the river."

          Mrs. Rodriguez was less convinced. "No, there's no way are we taking a boat, Ben. No way." Her voice was panicked and commanding.

          "Why not?" Addison asked, crossing her skinny arms.

          Mrs. Rodriguez threw her hands into the air like the answer was blatantly obvious. "Boats tip, Addison! You could drown!"

          "I think we all can swim, Mom," her daughter replied defiantly.

          "Not if a shark decides to bite you!"

          Mr. Rodriguez sighed deeply. "There's no sharks in the river, Beth."

          Michael decided he wasn't going to get involved in this argument. He still intended on taking a boat. Heading to Cocoa Beach would be a long and dangerous trip by foot. It would take them the better part of the night to even make it across the bridges that led east. And that was assuming those were left intact for the duration of the night. If it came to it, they may have to split up, but he preferred they stayed as a group. Strength in numbers. Hopefully it wouldn't come to parting ways.

          Setting the knives on the nearby bench in front of the house, he returned to his car and unlocked the trunk. The hatch lifted with a hissing sigh. Michael pulled out two plastic bags, emptied their assorted contents, and searched through them. No luck. His hopes to find one of his other pocket knives was gone. It looked as though they would be stuck with the kitchenware for the time being. He reached deep into the trunk and pulled out a small plastic case. With it in one hand, he shut the trunk and placed the black case on the bench next to the dull kitchen knives.

          Sarah, Ryan, Emma, and Miguel emerged from the house. There were only two backpacks between them, but everything had fit except a loaf of bread, which dangled from Emma's hand.

          "Where's Jake?" Mrs. Rodriguez asked wearily. "Wasn't he in there with you guys?"

          "No," Michael replied, seeing the startled looks on the others' faces. "He went with Sabrina to go ask the neighbors for a radio."

          "What neighbors?" she asked, her voice becoming shrill and worried. D****t, Michael swore to himself. The last thing we need is for her to fuss at every damn thing.

          "Your neighbors," he said as calmly as he could. "They'll be fine. I wasn't sure if you guys had a small portable radio, so I asked them to see if they could find one."

          "Jake shouldn't be looking for no radios! He should be here with us so we can make sure he's safe! Jake?" She called out loudly.

          As she continued to shout her son's name despite Addison's protests, Michael went up to his friends. "Got everything?"

          "All that we could find. Levi is double checking the rooms. Are we just waiting on Jake and Sabrina?"

          Michael nodded. "Mr. Rodriguez thinks we should head for Cocoa Beach, what do you guys think?"

          "I don't know. That's a long way off." Sarah furrowed her eyebrows. "I'd say try and find a boat."

          "Boat," Ryan agreed.

          "As long as we don't have to steal it," Emma put in.

          Michael shrugged. "We may not have a choice. Miguel?" His friend tilted his head toward the others. "It's unanimous for us then. We'll get the others' opinions when they get back. But I'd say that's probably what's going to happen. There are knives on the bench there. They aren't sharp, but they're better than nothing."

          Once Levi came out, he was of a mind to try their odds with the boat as opposed to Cocoa Beach, but he mentioned he wouldn't be against the latter should their search fail. Jake and Sabrina turned up empty handed several minutes later. "Nobody home or no one's answering," Jake said to the group, ignoring his mother's chastisements for leaving. "People locked their doors and we didn't want to start busting windows just yet. The streets are crazy though. Courtenay is full of people."

          As they all were preparing to leave, Michael went up to Addison and Jake. "I think you should let Rocky out of your yard. He'll be able to survive better fending for himself than waiting for you guys to come back." He saw their expressions soften and it pained him, but he put it in the back of his mind. "He'll be alright. He's a smart dog."

          Reluctantly, the siblings went to the fence where their dog waited, whining and ears folded back. He'd been part of their family since he was a small pup over a decade ago. He licked at their hands and his tail wagged as they opened the screeching chainlink gate. Excited about his freedom, Rocky darted about, sniffing as he went.

          "Good boy, Rocky," Addison said, her eyes welling up with tears again and she scratched the dog behind the ears when he came up to her. Jake knelt and ruffled the dogs fur along the sides and back. After that, the dog bounded off among the houses to explore, unaware that his family wouldn't be there upon his return.

          With everyone together, it was time to discuss the next course of action. "We're going to Cocoa Beach," Mr. Rodriguez said with finality. "Jake and Addison are coming with us. I can't make anyone else come, but I strongly urge you to."

          Michael respected Mr. Rodriguez, a retired NASA employee, but he couldn't follow him. Not tonight. "I'll be headed for the mainland," Michael replied resolutely.

          Ryan looked at his long-time friend and saw the decision was set. "I've got your back," 

          "Me too," Sarah said, her eyes fierce.

          Levi Mercer looked at his side to Addison. "Guys, I'm going to have to go with the Rodriguez's. Maybe try to find my family too, I'm sorry."

          "Nothing to be sorry for," Michael told him and extended a hand. Levi met it with a firm shake before bringing Michael in for a masculine hug.

          "You take care of yourself, Morrison."

          "If this is an attack, I doubt we've seen the last of it," Sarah said. "Our best bet is to make for the mainland and try to reach any U.S. military."

          "I think she's right," came Sabrina's agreement. She stepped over to Sarah and stood next to her.

          Emma's lip trembled. "I want to find my family," she said weakly. "But I'd have a better chance meeting up with them by heading south along the river looking for a boat. My neighborhood's not far. I'm so sorry!"

          Mrs. Rodriguez looked with pity in her eyes. "Don't be sorry, sweetie. I'm sure you'll find them."

          Miguel looked between the two groups. "I don't know," he admitted. "The Rodriguez' are like my second family and I want to find my parents and sister, but I also don't want to leave you guys to go to the mainland by yourselves. It's a hard decision."

          It was one he didn't have time to make. A vibrating hum came from the dark eastern sky. Silence once more swept over the island as all eyes turned to watch. Small dots appeared. First ten, then thirty. They multiplied until there were hundreds. Heavy planes in formation filled the sky over Cocoa Beach and Merritt Island. Many had huge, thick fuselages and four jet engines that propelled them forward. Their engines roared as they came closer. They were fairly difficult to see in the dark until they were almost overhead, but their wing lights were clear beacons. Then, like a macabre birth, each massive aircraft began spitting small figures into the sky. Michael watched as the first few descended, their bodies tiny in the distance. Above them large canopies striped in black and grey and white billowed open, slowing their descent. In a matter of seconds there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of canopies opening and cascading toward the earth with deceptive serenity. Michael's mouth opened slightly, but no words came. He could only watch nearly breathless as it all unfolded before him. It was like something out of a dream.

          He flinched and looked directly above him as a massive aircraft roared overhead, dropping the last of its human payload. The final chute opened, and it and the man attached to it drifted down. In the dim light of night, he was only an alien shape descending on them. His parachute guided him closer to the group in the yard as he neared the ground. Michael tensed. This paratrooper would be coming down very close to them.

          The parachuting soldier landed awkwardly on top of the angled roof of the two story house directly next to the Rodriguez'. He hit the shingles and fell, twisting himself in the silk and thin nylon cording of his chute. With muffled shouts, he rolled down, his body twitching and lashing out as he tried to free himself. His fall from the roof was padded by a shrubbery which snapped and hissed as he crunched the small branches and leaves.

          There was almost no prior thought to the actions Michael did next, nor was there with Ryan. The two immediately began sprinting toward the hedge as soon as the tangled man had threatened to fall. The others called after them, shouting and screaming, but they didn't hear. Michael was the fastest sprinter of them all, his feet covering the distance in seconds. He leapt onto the man first. The paratrooper was a massive man, over six feet tall and wide at the shoulders. Even wrapped in silk, he struggled heartily. Michael placed on knee on the man's torso and kept the other on the ground and saw all he need to see. On the man's shoulder was a flag of the Russian Federation. "Russians! Grab the gun!" he cried out, unsheathing his nine-inch bayonet. The paratrooper found new vigor when the large blade flashed and he managed to free and arm, striking Michael in the side of the head with a violent blow.

          Staggering, Michael put his hand out in front of him to steady himself. He was seeing stars and he felt as if his head was swimming. The Russian soldier made to strike again, but Ryan threw himself onto him and grabbed his arm. The man surged forward, striking Ryan's unprotected head with the hard Kevlar of his helmet. Ryan stumbled backwards, and in that moment the man reached down to his thigh.

          Michael grimaced, feeling dizzy and almost drunk from the hard hit he had taken to the temple. He could feel the man moving below him, but he just needed a second to regain his senses. He would only need a moment.

          "Michael!" it was Sarah's voice. And Emma's. Sabrina's and Miguel's. Jake's and Addison's. All of them cried out his name, each voice broken by terror and sadness. Michael's heart skipped a beat, and he looked up.

          Then it all made sense to him. Life. It was such a simple thing sometimes.

          Michael stared down the dark mouth of a nine-millimeter barrel.

           One of the girls screamed as a pistol shot echoed in the dark.